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ILLPSTMTED 


FAMOUS  fflTIST; 


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u ■■■ II    I 


lll>MM*li»|ll»III.M tll.l 


CALlFO«MlA 
SAN  DIEGO 


I    MOVE    THE    SWE]    I     FORGET-ME-NOTS 

I  H  \  r    <;k<  i\\     FOR     II  \  PPY    I  '  >V1   RS. 


■^  *J 


IDEAL    POEMS 


FROM  THE  ENGLISH    POETS 


ILLUSTRATIONS    l;V 

AMERICAN    ARTISTS 


B<  >ST(  >N 
I).  LOTHR(  >P  AND  C<  >MPANY 

FRANKLIN     STRF.F/1 


Copyright,  18S3. 
D.  Lothrop  &  Company. 


Pkksswokk  u\    Rockwell  &  Chukchill. 


CONTENTS. 


The  ISrook 


The  Three  Fishers 


Alfred  Tennyson 


Charles  Kingsi  ey 


The  Long  White  Seam  .  Jean  Ingelow 

O  May  I  Join  the  Choir  Invisible   George  Eliot 


How  They  Brought   hie  Good 
News  From  Ghent  to  Aix 

Mi  >THER  ami  Poet 

Bingen  ox  i  he  Rhine   . 

A  M  vn's  a  Max  for  a'  i  hat  . 

Nature's  Lady 

Ring  on.  Wild  Bells  . 

Ti  i  \  Sk\  lark 

The  Lost  (  Ihord 


Robert  Browning 


ii 

14 
18 

22 

27 


Mrs.  I'..  I!.  Browning    .     33 


Caroline  E.  S.  Norton  41 
Robi  r  r  Burns  .  .  4S 
William  W<  irdswor  i  ii 


Ai  1  1:1  ii  Tennyson 


Pero    1 1.  Sim  ii  i a 


Am  .  VIDE  A.   PRO<  l  1  R 


56 
60 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


I    move   the   sweet    forget-me-nots 
That  grow  for  happy  lovers, 

For   men   must   work,  and   women 
must   weep. 

By  the    candle's    flickering  gleam. 

"  May  1  reach  that  purest  heaven  ' 

At  Aerschot  up  leaped  of  a  sudden 
the  sun. 

Dead  !  one  of  them  shot  by  the  sea 

in  the  East, 
And   one  of  them  shot  in  the  West 

bv  the  sea. 


YY.  L.  Taylor  Frontis. 


T.  1 1 ov i:\iikn 


i: 


Miss  I..  B.  1  [umphrey     19 
Mme.  Alix  En  vult  23 


Hv.  Sandham 


"Tell  my  sister  not  to  weep  forme."      Walter  Shiri  \w 


A  man  for  a'  that. 

She  shall  be  sportive  as  the  lawn. 

Ring  out  the  false,  ring  in  the  1  rue. 

1  hear  thy  shrill  delight 

I  ,1  1  no!  know  v  hat    I  was  playing 
Or  what  I  was  dreaming  then. 


T.    HoVENDEN 


I ■'    Parker  Hum  \ 


St.  ]<  >ii\  1 1  \ f ■  1  1  :r 


E    !  1    Gari 


W.  L.  Taylor 


29 


A  I  FRED  FR]  DERICKS  37 


43 
49 
53 

5  7 


IDEAL   POEMS. 


THE   BROOK. 

TCOME   from   haunts  of  coot   and    hern, 
L    make    a    sudden   sally 
And   sparkle   out   among  the  fern. 
To   bicker   down  a  valley. 

By  thirty  hills  I  hurry  down. 

Or  slip   between    the   ridges, 
By  twenty  thorps,   a  little  town. 

And   half  a   hundred   bridges. 

Till  last  by    Philip's   farm   1   flow 

To  join  the  brimming  river, 
For  men  may  come  and  men  may   go, 

But  I   go  on  forever. 

1  chatter  over  stony  ways. 

In  little  sharps  and  trebles, 
I  bubble   into  eddying  bays, 

I    babble    on    the    pebbles. 


1 1 


12  THE  BROOK. 

With   many  a  curve  my  banks  I  fret 
By   many  a  field   and  fallow, 

And  many  a  fairy  foreland  set 
With  willow-weed  and  mallow. 

I  chatter,  chatter,  as  I  flow 
To  join  the  brimming  river, 

For  men   may  come  and  men  may  go, 
But  I  go  on  forever. 

I  wind  about,  and  in  and  out. 

With  here  a  blossom  sailing, 
And  here  and  there  a  lusty  trout. 

And  here  and  there  a  grayling. 

And  here  and  there   a   foamy  flake 

Upon  me  as   I   travel 
With  many  a  silvery  waterbreak 

Above  the  golden  gravel. 

And  draw  them  all  along  and  flow 
To  join  the  brimming  river, 

For  men   may  come  and   men  may  go, 
But   I    -jo  on   forever. 


THE  BROOK.  13 


I  steal  by  lawns  and  grassy  plots, 
I  slide   by   hazel  covers  ; 

I  move  the  sweet  forget-me-nots 
That  grow  for  happy  lovers. 

I  slip,  I  slide,  I  gloom.  I  glance. 
Among  my  skimming  swallows  ; 

I  make  the  netted  sunbeam  dance 
Against  my  sandy  shallows. 

I  murmur  under  moon  and  stars 
In  brambly  wildernesses  ; 

I  linger  by   my  shingly  bars  ; 
I  loiter  round   my   cresses  : 


And  out  again  I  curve  and  flow 
To  join  the  brimming  river. 

For  men   may  come   and   men  may  go, 
But  I  go  on  forever. 


THE  THREE   FISHERS. 

THREE  fishers  went   sailing  away  to  the  West  — 
Away   to   the   West  as   the   sun    went   down  ; 
Each   thought   on   the  woman   who   loved    him    best, 
And    the  children    stood  watching  them  out  of  the 
town  ; 
For  men  must  work  and   women  must  weep  ; 
And  there's  little  to  earn  and   many  to  keep, 
Though  the  harbor-bar  be  moaning;. 


Three  wives  sat  up  in   the  lighthouse  tower 

And  trimmed   the  lamps  as  the  sun   went  down  ; 
They  looked    at    the    squall,  and    they  looked   at   the 
shower, 
And    the    night-rack    came    rolling    up    ragged   and 
brown. 
But    men   must  work  and   women  must  weep, 
Though  storms  he  sudden  and   waters  deep, 
And  the  harbor-bar  be   moaning. 

■4 


FOR    MEN    MUST    WORK,    AND    WOMEN     MUST    WEEP. 


77/A'   THREE  FISHERS.  17 

Three  corpses  lay  out  on   the  shining  sands 

In  the  morning  gleam  as  the  tide  went   down. 
And    the    women    are    weeping;    and    wringing    their 
hands 
For  those  who  will  never  come  back   to  the  town  ; 
For  men  must  work    and   women   must   weep  — 
And   the  sooner  it's  over  the   sooner  to   sice])  — 
And   good-by  to   the   bar  and   its   moaning. 


THE   LONG    WHITE    SEAM. 

AS  I  came  round  the  harbor  buoy 
The  lights  began  to  gleam  ; 
No  wave  the  land-locked   water  stirred, 

The  crags  were   white   as  cream. 
And  I   marked  my  love  by  candle  light 
Sewing  her   long  white  seam. 
It's  ay  sewing  ashore,  my   dear, 

Watch  and  steer  at  sea  — 
It's  reef  and  furl,  and  haul  the  line, 
Set  sail  and   think   of  thee. 

I  climbed  to  reach  her  cottage  door ; 

Oh,  sweetly  my  love  sings  ! 

Like  a  shaft  of  light  her  voice  breaks  forth; 

My  soul   to  meet  it  springs 

As   the  shining   water   leaped  of  old 

When  stirred  by  angel   wings. 

Ay,  longing   to  list  anew, 

Awake  and   in  my  dream. 

But  never  a  song  she  sang  like  this, 

Sewing  her  long  white  seam. 
1 8 


BY    THE    CANDLE'S    i  LICKERING    GLEAM. 


THE  LONG   WHITE  SHAM.  21 

Fair  fall  the  lights,  the  harbor  lights, 

That  brought  me  in  to  thee. 
And  peace  drop  down  on  that   low  roof 

Fur  the  sight  that   I  did  sec 
And    the  voice,  my  dear,  that   rang   so  clear 
All   for  the   love  of  me. 

For  oh,  for  oh.   with   brows  bent  low, 

By  the  candle's   flickering  gleam. 
Her   wedding-gown    it    was  she   vvrought, 
Sewing  the  long  white  seam. 


0  MAY  I  JOIN  THE  CHOIR  INVISIBLE  ! 

OMAY  I  join  the  choir  invisible 
Of  those  immortal  dead  who  live  again 
In  minds   made  better  by  their  presence  ;  live 
In  pulses  stirred  to  generosity, 
In  deeds  .of  daring  rectitude,  in  scorn 
Of   miserable  aims  that  end   with   self. 
In  thoughts  sublime   that  pierce  the  night  like  stars, 
And  with   their  mild   persistence   urge  men's  minds 
To  vaster  issues. 

So  to  live  is  heaven  : 
To   make  undying  music   in   the  world. 
Breathing;  a  beauteous  order  that  controls 
With    growing   sway  the   growing  life  of  man. 
So  we  inherit  that  sweet   purity 
For  which   we   struggled,   failed   and    agonized 
Willi   widening  retrospect   that   bred   despair. 
Rebellious    ilesh    that    would    not    be   subdued, 
A  vicious  parent   shaming  still  its   child, 
Poor,  anxious  penitence  is  quick   dissolved; 


MAY    I    REACH    THAT    TlklM     HEAVEN! 


!  " 


O  MA  Y  I  JO  IX  THE  CHOIR  INVISIBLE  !      25 

Its  discords,  quenched  by  meeting  harmonies. 
Die  in  the  large  and  charitable  air  ; 
And  all   our  rarer,  better,  truer  self, 
That   sobbed   religiously   in  yearning   song, 
That  watched  to  ease  the  burden  of  the  world, 
Laboriously   tracing  what  must  be, 
And  what  may  yet   be  better  —  saw  rather 
A  worthier  image  for  the  sanctuary 

QD  v 

And  shaped  it  forth  before  the  multitude, 

Divinely  human,   raising  worship   so 

To  higher    reverence  more  mixed  with  love  — 

CJ 

That  better   self    shall  live  till  human  Time 
Shall   fold    its  eyelids,  and  the  human   sky 
Be   gathered   like   a   scroll  within  the  tomb 
Unread  forever. 


This  is  life  to  come, 
Which  martyred  men  have  made  more  glorious 
For  us  who  strive  to  follow. 


May  T  reach 
That  purest   heaven — be  to  other  souls 
The  cup  of  strength  in  some  greal   agony, 
Enkindle  generous  ardor,  feed  pure  love, 


26       O  MAY  I  JOIN  THE  CHOIR  INVISIBLE! 

Beget  the  smiles   that  have  no   cruelty, 
Be   the  sweet  presence  of  a  good  diffused, 
And  in  diffusion   ever   more   intense ! 
So  shall  I  join   the   choir  invisible 
Whose  music  is  the  gladness  of  the  world. 


HOW     THEY     BROUGHT     THE     GOOD     NEWS 
FROM   GHENT   TO   AIX. 

1   SPRANG  to  the  stirrup,   and   Juris  and  lie: 
I  galloped,  Dirck  galloped,  we  galloped  all  three; 
"Good    speed!'     cried    the    watch    as    the    gate-bolts 

undrew, 
"Speed!"   echoed   the   wall    to    us   galloping    through. 
Behind  shut  the  postern,  the  lights  sank  to  rest. 
And   into  the  midnight    we   galloped   abreast. 

Not  a  word  to  each  other;   we  kept    the  great  pace — 
Neck   by  neck,   stride    by   stride,  never   changing   our 

place  ; 
I   turned  in   my  saddle  and   made  its  girths  tight, 
Then  shortened  cadi   stirrup  and   se1   the  pique  right, 
Etebuckled  the  check-strap,   chained  -lacker  the  bit, 
Nor  galloped   less  steadily    Roland  a  whit. 

'Twas  moonsel  at  starting;  but  while  we  drew  near 
Lokeren,  the  cocks  crew  and  twilight  dawned  clear; 
At    Boom  a  -real    yellow    star  came  oul    to  see: 


28     HOW  THEY  BROUGHT  THE  GOOD  NEWS. 

At  Diiifeld  'twas  morning  as   plain  as  could  be ; 
Ami  from  Mecheln  church-steeple   we   heard  the  half- 
chime  — 
So  Joris   broke  silence  with  "  Yet  there  is  time !  " 

At   Aerschot  up  leaped  of  a  sudden  the  sun, 

And  against  him  the   cattle  stood   black  every  one, 

To  stare  through  the  mist  at  us  galloping  past ; 

And  I  saw   my  stout  galloper    Roland   at  last 

With   resolute   shoulders,  each  butting  away 

The   haze,  as  some   bluff  river   headland  its  spray  ; 

And     his     low    head    and     crest,   just    one    sharp    ear 

bent  back 
For  my  voice,  and  the  other  pricked  out  on  his  track, 
And  one  eye's  black  intelligence  —  ever  that  glance 
O'er  its  white  edge   at  me,  his  own  master,  askance  ; 
And    the    thick    heavy    spume-flakes,    which    aye    and 

anon 
His  fierce  lips   shook  upwards  in  galloping  on. 

By   Hasselt,    Dirck    groaned ;    and    cried    Joris,  "  Stay 

spur  ! 
Your  Roos  galloped   bravely,  the  fault's   not   in  her ; 
We'll    remember  at   Aix  " — for  one  heard    the  quick 

wheeze 


\  I      M  RS(  HOT    Ul'    I  I   Ml  D   OJ      V    SI   I'M  \     I  ill     SUN. 


HO  W  THE ) '  BROl  'GUT  THE  GOOD  NE  WS.     3 1 

Of   her  chest,  saw  the  stretched   neck  and  staggering 

knees, 
And  sunk  tail,  and  horrible  heave  of  the  flank. 
As  down  on  her  haunches  she  shuddered  and  sank. 

So  we  were  left  galloping,  Juris  and  I, 

Past   Looz  and  past  Tongres,  no  cloud  in  the  sky; 

The  broad  sun  above  laughed  a   pitiless  laugh  ; 

o  1  o      * 

'Neath  our  feet   broke    the  brittle  bright   stubble  like 

chaff; 
Till  over  by  Delhem    a   dome  spire  sprung  white 

And    "Gallop,"   gasped   Jons,    "for  Aix   is   in   sight! 

"How    they'll    greet    11s!"  —  and    all     in    a    momenl 

his  roan 
Rolled   neck   and   croup  over,  lay   dead   as  a  stone; 
And    there  was   my   Roland   to  hear  the  whole  weight 
Of    the    news  which    alone    could    save  Aix    from  her 

fate, 
With   his  nostrils   like  pits   full   of  Mood   to  the  brim, 
And   with   circle-  of  red    for  his  eye-sockets'    rim. 

Then    I  casl   loose  mv  buff-coat,   each    holster  let    fall. 
Shook  <A'(  both   my   jack-boots,   lei   go    bell   and   all. 
Stood    up  In    the  stirrup,   leaned,   patted   his  ear. 
(',-dled    mv    Roland    his    pel    name,   my    horse   without 

peel' 


32     HOW  THE  Y  BR  0  UGHT  THE  GOOD  XE 1 1 'S. 

Clapped   my   hands,    laughed    and    sung,    any    noise, 

bad  or  good, 
Till  at  length  into  Aix    Roland  galloped  and   stood. 

And  all  I  remember  is  friends  flocking   around, 

As    I    sate   with    his    head    twixt    my    knees    on    the 

ground  ; 
And  no  voice  but  was   praising  this  Roland  of  mine 
As    I    poured    down    his   throat    our   last    measure    of 

wine. 
Which  (the  burgesses  voted  by  common   consent) 
Was    no  more  than  his  due  who  brought  good    news 

from  Ghent. 


MOTHER  AND  POET. 

DEAD  !  one  of  them  shot  by  the  sea  in  the  east, 
And  one  of  them  shut  in  the  west  bv  the  sea. 

VI 

Dead!  both  my  boys!     When  yon  sit  at  the  feast 
And  are  wanting  a  great  song  for  Italy  free, 
Let  none  look  at  me ! 


Yet  I  was  a  poetess  only  last  year, 

And  o;ood  at  my  art  for  a  woman,  men  said, 

But  this  woman,   this,   who   is  agonized  here, 

The  east  sea  and  west  sea  rhyme  on  in  her  head 
Forever  instead. 


What  art  can  woman  be  good  at  ?     Oh,  vain ! 

What  art  is  she  good  at,  but  hurting  her  breast 
With    the   milk-teeth    of    babes,  and    a    smile    at    the 
pain  ? 
Ah,   boys,    how    you     hurt !     you    were    strong     as 
you  pressed, 

And  /  proud  by  that  test. 

33 


34  MOTHER  AXD  POUT. 

What's  art  for  a  woman  ?     To  hold  on  her  knees 
Both    darlings !    to    feel    all    their    arms    round   her 
throat 
Cling,  strangle  a  little  !     To  sew  by  degrees, 

And  'broider  the  long  clothes  and  neat  little  coat ! 
To  dream  and  to  dote. 


To  teach  them  ...  It    stings   there.     /  made   them 
indeed 
Speak   plain  the  word    '  country.'     I    taught    them, 
no  doubt, 
That  a  country's  a  thing  men  should  die  for  at  need. 
/  prated  of  liberty,  rights,  and  about 
The  tyrant  turned  out. 


And  when  their  eyes  flashed,  oh,  my  beautiful  eyes  ! 

I  exulted  !  nay,  let  them  go  forth  at  the  wheels 
Of  the  guns,  and  denied  not.     But  then  the  surprise, 
When  one  sits  quite  alone  !     Then  one  weeps,  then 
one   kneels ! 

—  God  !  how  the  house  feels. 


At  first  happy  news  came,  in  gay  letters  moiled 
With  my  kisses,  of  camp-life  and  glory,  and  how 


MOTHER  AND  POET.  35 

They  both    loved    me,  and    soon,  coming  home  to  be 
spoiled, 
In  return  would  fan  off  every  fly  from  my  brow 
With  their  ^reen  laurel  bouirh. 

Then  was  triumph  at  Turin.     <  Ancona  was  free!' 
And  some  one  came  out  of  the  cheers  in  the  street, 

With  ;i  face  pale  as  stone  to  say  something  to  me. 
My  Guido  was  dead  !     I  fell  down  at  his  feet 
While  thev  cheered  in  the  street. 

I    bore    it  —  friends    soothed    me:     my   grief    looked 
sublime 
As  the  ransom  of  Italy.     One  boy  remained 
To  be  leant  on  and  walked  with,  recalling  the  time 
When    the    first    grew    immortal,    while    both  of  us 
strained 

To  the  height   he  had  gained. 

And  letters  still  came  —  shorter,  sadder,  more  strong. 

Writ  now  but    in    one    hand.      1    was   not    to    faint. 
One   loved    me  for  two  .  .  .  would    be    with    me    ere 
long, 
And  'Viva  Italia'  he  died   for,  our  saint. 
Who  forbids  our  complaint. 


36  MOTHER  AND  POET. 

My  Nanni  would  add,  'he  was   safe   and  aware 

Of    a  presence   that  turned    oil"   the   balls  .    .   .  was 
imprest 
It  was  Guido  himself,  who  knew  what  I  could   bear, 
And  how   'twas   impossible,   quite  dispossessed, 
To  live  on  for  the  rest.' 

On  which,    without  pause,   up  the   telegraph  line, 

Swept  smoothly  the  next  news  from  Gaeta — Shot. 
Till  Ins  mother.     Ah,   ah!    'his,'  'their'  mother:  not 
1  mine.' 
No  voice  says  '  my  mother  '  again  to  me.     What ! 
You  think  Guido  forgot  ? 

Are   souls  straight  so  happy  that,  dizzy  with  Heaven, 
They  drop  earth's  affection,   conceive  not  of  woe  ? 

T  think  not.     Themselves  were  too  lately  forgiven 
Through  that  Love  and  Sorrow  which  reconciled  so 
The  Above  and  Below. 

0  Christ   of  the  seven  wounds,  who   look'dst  through 
the  dark 
To  the  face  of  thy  mother !  consider,  I  pray, 
How   we   common  mothers  stand  desolate,   mark, 
Whose     sons,    not     being     Christs,     die    with    eyes 
turned  away, 

And  no  last  word  to  say! 


DEAD!    ONE    OF    THEM    shot    BY    THE    SEA    !\     I  ill     EAST, 
AND    ONE   OF    THEM    SHOl     i\     Mil:    WEST    in      I'HK    SKA. 


MOTHER  AND  POET.  39 

Both  boys   dead  !    but   that's   out  of  nature.     We  all 
Have    been    patriots,  yet    each    bouse    must    always 

keep  one. 

'Twere  imbecile  hewing  out  roads  to  a  wall, 

And   when    Italy's    made,   for   what  end   is   it  done 
If  we  have  not  a  son  ? 

Ah  !   ah !   ah  !   when  Gaeta's  taken,   what  then  ? 

When  the   fair,  wicked   queen  sits  no   more  at  her 
spori 
Of  the  fire-balls  of  death  crashing  souls  out  of  men? 
When  your  gnus  of  Cavalli,  with    final   retort. 
Have  cut  the  game  shorl  — 

When   Venice  and    Rome   keep   their  new  jubilee, 
When    your    flag    lakes    all    Heaven    for    its    white, 
green,   and   red, 
When   you  have  your  country  from   mountain  to  sea, 
When    King   Victor  has   Italy's  crown  on  his  head, 
(And    I    have  my  dead) 

What     then?       Do   not    mock    me!       Ah.    rins:    your 
bells  low  ! 
And  burn  your  lights  faintly.     My  country  is  there, 
Above  the  star  pricked   by  the   last  peak   of   snow. 
My   [taly's   there  —  with   my   brave  civic   Pair. 
To  disfranchise  despair. 


4o  MOTHER  AND  POET. 

Forgive  me.     Some  women  bear  children   in  strength, 
And  bite   back  the   cry  of  their  pain  in   self-scorn, 

But  the  birth-pangs  of  nations  will  wring  us  at  length 
Into  wail   such  as  this  !   and   we   sit  on  forlorn 
When   the   man-child  is  born. 

Dead  !    one  of  them  shot  by  the  sea  in   the  west ! 

And  one  of  them  shot  in  the  east  by  the  sea  ! 
Both  !    both   my  boys  !     If,  in   keeping  the  feast, 

You  want  a  great   song  for  your  Italy  free, 
Let  none  look  at  me  ! 


BINGEN  ON  THE  RHINE. 


A  SOLDIER  of    the    Legion   lay  dying  in  Algiers, 
There  was  lack  of    woman's  nursing,  there  was 


o? 


dearth  of  woman's  tears  ; 

But  a  comrade  stood  beside  him  while  his  life-blood 
ebbed  away, 

And  bent  with  pitying  glances  to  hear  what  he 
might    say. 

The  dying  soldier  faltered,  and  he  took  that  com- 
rade's hand. 

And  he  said.  "  I  never  more  shall  see  my  own.  my 
native   land  ; 

Take  a  message,  and  a  token  to  some  distant  friends 
oi    mine. 

For  I   was  born  at  Bingen,  at  Bingen  on  the    Rhine. 


"Tell  my  brothers  and    companions  when    they  meet 
and  crowd   around 

To    hear    my   mournful    story,    in    the    pleasant    vine- 
yard ground, 

41 


42  BINGEN  ON  THE  RHINE. 

That  we  fought  the  battle  bravely,  and  when  the 
day  was  dune, 

Full  many  a  corse  lay  ghastly  pale  beneath  the  set- 
ting sun  ; 

And,  'mid  the  dead  and  dying,  were  some  grown  old 
in  wars, 

The  death-wound  on  their  callant  breasts  the  last 
of  many  scars  : 

And  some  were  young,  and  suddenly  beheld  life's 
morn  decline. 

And  one  had  come  from  Bingen,  fair  Bineen  on  the 
Rhine. 


"  Tell    my  mother    that   her  other  son    shall    comfort 

her  old  as:e  ; 
For  I  was  still    a  truant  bird  that  thought  his  home 

a  cage. 
For     my     father     was    a    soldier,     and     even    as    a 

child 
My  heart  leaped  forth  to    hear  him   tell    of    struggles 

fierce    and  wild  ; 
And   when    he   died   and    left   us   to   divide  his   scanty 

hoard 
I  let  them  take  whate'er  they  would,  but  I  kept  my 

father's  sword ; 


"ill. I.    m\     SISTER    Nor    id    WEEP    FOR    ME. 


BINGEN  ON  THE  RHINE.  45 

And   with  boyish  love    I    hung   it    where    the    bright 

light  used  to  shine 
On  the  cottage  wall    at    Bingen,  calm  Bingen  on  the 

Rhine. 

••  Tell  my  sister  not  to  weep  for    me,    and    sob    with 

drooping  head 
AY  hen   the    troops    come    marching    home    again    with 

glad  and  gallant  tread. 
But  to  look    upon    them    proudly,    with    a    calm    and 

steadfast  eye, 
For  her  brother  was  a  soldier,  too,  and  not  afraid  to  die  ; 
And  if  a  comrade  seek   her   love,    I    ask    her,  in    my 

name, 
To  listen  to  him  kindly,  without  regret  or  shame, 
And  to  hang  the  old  sword  in  its  place   (my  father's 

sword  and  mine), 
For  the    honor   of    old    Bingen,    dear    Bingen    on    the 

Rhine. 

"There's  another,  not  a  sister;  in  the  happy  days 
gone  by 

You'd  have  know  her  by  the  merriment  that  spark- 
led in  her  eye ; 

Too  innocent  for  coqnetrv,  too   fond   for  idle   scorning, 


46  BINGEN  ON  THE  RHINE. 

0,  friend !  I  fear  the  lightest  heart  makes  some- 
times heaviest  mourning. 

Tell  her  the  last  night  of  my  life  (for  ere  the  moon 
be  risen 

My  body  will  be  out  of  pain,  my  soul  be  out  of 
prison), 

I  dreamed  I  stood  with  her,  and  saw  the  yellow  sun- 
light shine 

On  the  vine-clad  hills  of  Bingen,  fair  Bingen  on  the 
Rhine. 


"  I  saw  the  blue  Rhine  sweep  along,  I  heard,  or 
seemed  to  hear. 

The  German  sonars  we  used  to  sins;  in  chorus  sweet 
and  clear ; 

And  down  the  pleasant  river,  and  up  the  slanting  hill, 

The  echoing  chorus  sounded,  through  the  evening 
calm   and  still  ; 

And  her  glad  blue  eyes  were  on  me,  as  we  passed, 
with  friendly   talk, 

Down  many  a  path  beloved  of  yore,  and  well  remem- 
bered   walk. 

And  her  little  hand  lay  lightly,  confidingly,  in  mine, 

But  we'll  meet  no  more  at  Bingen,  loved  Bingen  on 
the  Rhine." 


BINGEN  ON  THE  RHINE.  47 

His  trembling  voice  grew  faint  and  hoarse,  his  grasp 

was  childish  weak. 
His  eyes  put  on  a  dying  look,  he  sighed,  and  ceased 

to  speak  ; 
1 1  is  comrade  bent   to    lift  him,  but  the  spark   of   life 

had  fled, 
The  soldier  of  the  Legion  in  a  foreign  land  was  dead  ; 
And  the  soft    moon    rose    up    slowly,  and    calmly  she 

looked  down 
On  the  red  sand  of  the  battle-field  with  bloody  corses 

strown  ; 
Yet    calmly  on    that    dreadful    scene    her    pale    light 

seemed  to  shine, 
As  it  shone  on    distant    Bingen,  fair    Bingen    on    the 

Rhine. 


A   MAN'S    A    MAN   FOR   A'    THAT. 

IS  there,  for  honest  poverty, 
That  hangs  his  head,  and  a'  that  ? 
The  coward-slave,  we  pass  him  by, 
We  dare  be  poor  for  a'  that ! 
For  a'  that,  and   a'  that, 
Our  toils  obscure,  and  a'   that; 
The  rank  is  but  the  guinea-stamp  ! 
The  man's  the  gowd  for  a'  that. 

What  though  on  namely  fare  we  dine. 

Wear  hodden  gray,  and  a'  that; 

Gie  fools  their  silks,  and  knaves  their  wine, 

A  man's  a  man  for  a'  that. 

For  a'  that,  and  a'  that. 

Their  tinsel  show,  and  a'   that ; 

The  honest  man,  though  e'er  sae  poor, 

Is  kin";  o'  men  for  a'  that. 


o 


Ye  see  yon  birkie.  ca'd  a  lord, 
Wha  struts,  and  stares,  and  a'  that 

4* 


\    MAN    FOR    A     THAT. 


A  MAN'S  A  MAX  FOR  A'    THAT.  5* 

Though  hundreds  worship  at  his  word, 

He's  but  a  coof  for  a'  that  ; 

For  a'  that,  and  a'  that, 

His  rib  and  star,   and   a'   that, 

The  man  of  independent   mind, 

He  looks  and  laughs  at  a'  that. 

A  prince  can  make  a  belted  knight. 

A  marquis,  duke,  and  a'  that  ; 

But  an  honest  man's  aboon  his  might, 

Guid  faith,   he  mauna  fa'  that  ! 

For  a'   that,   and  a'   that, 

Their  dignities,   and   a'   that. 

The  pith  o'   sense,  and   pride  o'  worth, 

Are  higher  ranks  than  a'  that. 

Then  let  us  pray  that  come  it  may. 

A-  come   it   will   for  a'   that. 

That  sense  and   worth,  o'er  a'   the  earth. 

May  bear  the  gree.  and   a'    that  ; 

For  a'   that,  and  a'   that, 

It's  coming  yet  for  a'  that  ; 

That  man  to  man.  the  warld   o'er, 

Shall    brothers   be   for  a'   that. 


NATURE'S  LADY. 

THREE  years  she  grew  in  sun  and  shower, 
Then  Nature  said,   "  A   lovelier  flower 
On  earth  was  never  sown  ; 
This   child   I  to  myself   will  take. 
She  shall  be  mine,  and   1  will  make 
A  lady  of  my  own. 

••  Myself  will  to  my  darling  be 

Both  law  and  impulse  :   and  with  me 

The  Girl,   in  rock  and  plain, 

\\\  earth  and  heaven,   in  glade  and  bower, 

Shall  feci  an  overseeing  power 

To   kindle   or   restrain. 

"  She  shall  be  sportive  as   the  fawn 
That  wild  with   glee    across    the    lawn 
Or   up   the   mountain   springs; 
And    hers    shall   be  the   breathing  balm, 
And    hers    the   silence   and   the   calm, 
Of  mute  insensate  things. 

52 


in     Ml  \l.l,    BE    SP<  IRTIVE    AS    THE    I   \W\. 


NATURE'S  LADY.  55 

"  The  floating  clouds  their  state   shall  lend 

To   her  ;  for  her  the  willows  bend  ; 

Nor   shall  she   fail  to  see 

Even  in  the   motions  of  the  storm 

Grace  that  shall  mould  the  maiden's   form 

By  silent  sympathy. 

"The  stars  of  midnight  shall  be  dear 

To  her ;  and   she   shall    lean   her  ear 

In  many  a  secret  place 

Where  rivulets  dance  their  wayward  round. 

And  beauty  born  of  murmuring  sound 

Shall  pass  into  her  face." 


RING  OUT,  WILD  BELLS. 

RING  out,  wild  hells,  to  the  wild  sky, 
The  flying  cloud,  the  frosty  light  : 

The  year  is  dying  in  the  night ; 

Ring  out,  wild  bells,  and  let  him  die. 


Ring  out  the  old,  ring  in  the  new, 
Ring,  happy  bells,  across  the    snow 
The  }'ear  is  going,  let  him  go  ; 

Rinsr  out  the  false,  ring;  in  the  true. 


Ring  out  the  grief  that  saps  the  mind 
For  those   that  here  we  see  no  more  ; 
Ring  out  the  feud  of  rich   and  poor, 

Rinor  in  redress  to  all   mankind. 

Ring  out  a  slowly  dying  cause, 

And  ancient  forms  of  party  strife ; 
Ring  in  the  nobler  modes  of   life, 

With  sweeter  manners,  purer  laws. 

56 


KING    OUT   THE    FALSE,    KING    IN    THE   TRUE. 


RING   OUT,    WILD    BELLS.  59 

Ring  out  the  want,  the  care,  the  sin, 
The  faithless  coldness  of  the  times; 
King  out,  ring  out  my    mournful  rhymes, 

But  ring  the  fuller  minstel  in. 

Ring  out  false  pride   in    place  and    blood, 
The  civic   slander  and   the    spite  : 
Ring  in  the   love  of  truth  and  right, 

Rins  in  the  common   love  of  u;ood. 

Ring  out  old  shapes  of  foul   disease; 

Ring  out  the  narrowing  lust   of  gold  ; 

Rins  out  the  thousand   wars  of  old, 
Ring  in  the  thousand   years   of  peace. 

Ring   in   the   valiant   man   and    free. 

The   larger   heart,    the   kindlier   hand; 

Ring  out    the  darkness  of  the  land, 
Ring  in  the  Christ    that   is  to  be. 


H 


TO  A  SKYLARK. 

AIL   to    thee,    blithe    spirit  — 
Bird    thou    never  wert  — 
That   from    heaven    or    near    it 
Pour  est    thy    full    heart 
In   profuse    strains    of    unpremeditated    art. 

Higher   still    and    higher 

From    the    earth    thou    springest, 

Like    a    cloud    of    fire; 

The    blue    deep    thou    wingest, 
And   singing    still    dost    soar,   and    soaring    ever  sing- 

est. 

In    the    golden    lightning; 

Of    the    sunken    sun. 
O'er    which    clouds    art    bright 'nhu>\ 

Thou    dost   float    and    run. 

Like    an    unbodied   joy    whose    race    is   just    begun. 

60 


TO  A   SKYLARK.  61 

The    pale    purple    even 

Melts   around    thy    flight; 
Like    a    star    of    heaven, 

In    the    broad     daylight 
Thou  art  unseen,  but  yet  I  hear  thy  shrill  delight  — 

Keen    as    are    the    arrows 

Of  that   silver   sphere 
Whose   intense    lamp    narrows 
In    the   white    dawn    clear 
Until   we   hardly    see,    we    feel,    that    it  is    there. 

All   the    earth    and    air 

"With    thy    voice    is    loud, 
As,   when   night    is   bare, 

From    one    lonely    cloud 
The    moon    rains    out    her    beams,    and    heaven    is 
overflowed. 

What    thou    art    we    know    not ; 

What    is    most    like    thee? 
From    rainbow-clouds  there    How    not 

Drops    so    bright    to    sec 
As    from    thy   presence  showers    ;i   rain  of   melody  : — 


62  TO  A  SKYLARK. 

Like    a    poet   hidden 

In    the    light    of    thought, 
Singing    hymns    unbidden. 
Till    the    world    is    wrought 
To   sympathy  with    hopes    and    fears    it    heeded  not ; 

Like    a    high-born    maiden 

In    a    palace    tower. 
Soothing    her    love-laden 
Soul    in    secret    hour 
With  music  sweet  as  love  which  overflows  her  bower ; 


Like    a   glow-worm    golden 

In    a    dell    of    dew, 
Scattering   unbeh olden 
Its  aerial    hue 
Among    the    flowers    and    grass    which  screen  it  from 
the    view  ; 


Like    a    rose    embowered 

In    its    own    green    leaves, 
By    warm    winds    deflowered, 

Till    the    scent   it    gives 
Makes  faint  with    too  much    heat   these  heavy-winged 
thieves  ; 


THOU   ART    UNSEEN,    BUT    VET    I    HEAR    TH\     SHRILL    DELIGHT. 


TO  A  SKYLARK,  65 

Sound    of    vernal    showers 

On    the    twinkling    grass, 
Rain-awakened    flowers  — 
All    that   ever    was 
Joyous  and  clear  and  fresh  —  thy  music  cloth  surpass. 

Teach    us,    sprite    or    bird, 

What    sweet    thoughts    are    thine : 
I    have    never    heard 

Praise    of    love    or    wine 
That    panted    forth   a  flood  of    rapture    so    divine. 

Chorus   hymeneal, 

Or    triumphal    chaunt, 
Matched  with    thine,   would    be    all 

But    an    empty    vaunt  — 
A  thing  wherein  we  feel  there  is  sonic  hidden   want. 

What    objects    are    the    fountains 

Of    the    happy    strain  ? 
What    fields,    or    waves    or    mountains? 

What    shapes    of    sky    or    plain  ? 
What    love    of    thine    own    kind?     what  ignorance  of 
pain  ? 


66  TO  A  SKYLARK. 

With    thy    clear    keen    joyance 
Languor    cann 

■       : 
\  near   the 

Thou   lovest,  mew   love's    sad    sal    ty. 

Waking    or    asleep. 

Th    .  :i    must  deem 

Things    more    tru     ind   d 

Than  v.  Is  .:u. 

Or     h     ■       )uld    thy    i.       -    :.    v    in     such    a    cry--  .. 
sti 

:    before    and    aft 
An  1    pun     :    .  is   not; 

Our    si]         si  _      -r 

With    -  s  fraught; 

Oui     -        best     songs      re    those    that    tell    of    sad/,  si 
thought. 

l    \   if     v  -     rn 

II  .-•■    and    pride    ai        :    ir, 
If    we   v  things    born 

Not  to   s  "    ir, 

I    .     w       "   I    w  thy  joy  w<  -  me  n> 


TO  A  SKYLARK.  6; 

Bettcr  than    all     measures 

Of   delightful    sound, 
Better  than   all    treasures 

That    in    books    are  found. 
Thy     skill     to     poet     were,     thou    scorner     of     the 
ground  ! 

Teach   me  half   the    gladness 

That  thv   brain  must   know. 
Such    harmonious  madness 

From    my  lips   would   flow 
The    world    should    listen    then    as    1    am    listening 
now. 


THE  LOST  CHORD. 

*EATED  one  day  at  the  organ, 
I  was  weary  and  ill  at  ease. 


s 


And  my  lingers  wandered  idly 
Over  the  noisy  keys. 

I  do  not  know  what  I  was  playing. 

Or  what  I  was  dreaming  then  ; 
But  I  struck  one  chord  of  music 

Like  the  sound  of  a  great  amen. 

It  Hooded  the  crimson  twilight 

Like  the  close  of  an   angel's  psalm, 

And  it  lay  on   my   fevered   spirit 
With  a  touch  of  infinite  calm. 

It  quieted  pain  and   sorrow. 

Like  love  overcoming  strife  ; 
It  seemed  the  harmonious  echo 

From  our  discordant  life. 

68 


I    DO    N<  IT    KN<  IW    w  II  \  I     I    W  VS    PLAYING, 
OR    WHA  I     !    WAS    DREAMING    Till  \ . 


THE  LOST  CHORD. 

It  linked  all  perplexed  meanings 

Into  one  perfect  peace, 
And  trembled  away  into  silence 

As  if  it  were  loath  to  cease. 

I  have  sought,  but  I  seek  it  vainly, 
That  one  lost  chord  divine, 

That  came  from  the  soul  of  the  organ 
And  entered  into  mine. 

It  may  be  that  death's  bright  angel 
Will  speak  in  that  chord  again. 

It  may  be  that  only  in  heaven 
I  shall  hear  that  grand  amen. 


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